


That Look

by liberosis32



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bi!Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Figuring shit out, Kinda Fluffy, Kinda crack-y, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, Supportive!Sam, Tags Are Hard, Takes place whenever, all the looks, because obviously, bodyswap aftermath, but probs sometime seasons 8-10, cockblocking sam averted!, dean ain't super self aware, on the verge of smut maybe kinda, pity looks, smug looks, someone suggest better tags, srsly suggest better tags :b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 17:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10769046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberosis32/pseuds/liberosis32
Summary: The reason behind the weird looks Sam keeps giving him throws Dean for a loop.





	That Look

**Author's Note:**

> So there's no definite place where this MUST belong chronologically. I'm gonna say sometime within seasons 8-10, but by all means, throw it wherever it fits best with your interpretation. You all are awesome, and thanks for reading! :D

 

Sam was giving him that look again. 

It was that pitying “do you want to talk about it” look that never seemed to leave his face these days. Or at least this last week, ever since they’d swapped back into their own bodies. Friggin witches, with their dumbass curses…

Dean tried to focus on eating his pie. They were at some random greasy-spoon diner in the middle of Nebraska, which was usually just his kinda place, but goddammit if Sam wasn’t forcing the whole thing to be un-enjoyable.

“You know, you keep givin me that look, and it’s turning the pie tasteless,” Dean told him, not even bothering to swallow.

Sam looked abashed. “I’m not giving you a look.”

“The hell you’re not.”

“I’m not giving you a look.”

Dean put down his fork, his appetite getting more ruined by the second. And it was such a shame, too – when he’d been stuck in Sam’s body, he’d had Sam’s taste buds, and the tragedy of the whole thing was that Sam did not experience the beauty that was homemade pecan pie with near the same level of ecstasy as Dean. It felt damn good to have his own tongue back, and now here was Sam, with his dumb pointless melancholy, putting a damper on the whole thing.

“Please don’t make me have to be the one to force the heart-to-heart here,” Dean told him.

Sam huffed a bit of a laugh at that, breaking out of the pitying expression for the briefest of seconds. But then it was right back again, pinching his eyebrows together and just generally getting under Dean’s skin.

“I’m not…” Sam paused and gave an anxious glance around the diner. “Look, man. I’m all good, really.”

“Don’t look like it.”

“Just…”

Jesus Christ. “What, Sam?”

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Now it was Dean’s turn to make a face. “Uh… sure, I guess.” Then, as an afterthought: “Obviously same goes for you.”

But that was getting into chick-flick territory, so to stop himself from saying anything else mushy, Dean picked up his fork again and took another sizeable bite of pie.

“Yeah,” said Sam absently. He glanced around the diner again, and Dean thought he looked like he wanted to pursue the topic further. But finally he just looked down at his own plate of food (a friggin salad – dude had no sense of culinary class) and said, “Just, I’m always here. If you wanna talk.”

Well, okay, thought Dean. It was a bit of a pointless heart-to-heart in his opinion, but he’d take an anticlimax like that over some of the much more painful deep shit they’d had to hash through in the past any day.

Except for practically the entire next month – through two vengeful spirit cases, a friggin old lady werewolf, and yet another bout of witches – Sam kept on giving Dean that look.

Finally, one night when they were camped out at an Arkansas motel with a four-leaf-clover theme, Sam was looking at Dean all pity-faced from the other bed when they were supposed to just be kicking back watching Dr. Sexy, Dean just snapped.

“Dude, what the hell?” He demanded, muting the TV without even waiting for the commercial break. Sam had spent – no joke – probably the last ten minutes just staring at him with that pointlessly sad look in his eyes. “You keep staring at me, all – all pitying or whatever, and it’s creepin me out.”

“I’m not staring – “

“Don’t you dare start up with that crap again.”

And, of course, all that did was make Sam continue to stare, though his expression did get a little less pitying and a bit more thoughtful. Dean was game for any change at this point.

Finally Sam sighed. He looked down at his lap, then back up at Dean, who had become so suddenly impassioned in getting an explanation he’d actually stood up.

 “I just – okay,” said Sam. “I wasn’t gonna say anything because I know it’s personal, and a part of me was hoping you’d just bring it up on your own at some point. I guess that was probably just naivety on my part, considering you’re in your thirties and you’ve never so much as dropped a hint, but – “

“Jesus Christ, what, Sam?”

“Dean, you should know that I could not care less that you’re attracted to dudes.”

Dean’s mouth actually dropped open a little. There was a long moment of silence that oddly enough didn’t feel uncomfortable, because the whole idea was actually absurd. “What in the hell makes you think that?” Dean finally managed.

Sam was rockin the pity-face all over again. “Well – “

“Okay, first, quit it with that face, it’s driving me crazy.”

Sam, seemingly relieved that Dean wasn’t _completely_ freaking out over… being _outed_ , or whatever the kids were calling it these days, switched to give him a reassuring smile. For some reason that almost felt worse.

“Sorry,” said Sam.

“Okay, you know what, it doesn’t matter.” Dean shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back on track. He sat down in his original place on the bed opposite Sam’s. “Get with the explanation of where this is comin from so I can put your mind at ease, cause I am not attracted to dudes.”

Dean had no idea why the brush-off laugh he attempted at the end of that sentence came out sounding so forced. 

“Dean,” said Sam, not unsympathetically.

“I’m tellin you, Sam, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sam looked confused. “But… when we were body-swapped…”

Dean waited while Sam paused to collect his thoughts.

“When we were body-swapped,” Sam went on, “do you remember going on and on to me about how I didn’t taste pie the same way you did?”

“Course I do. Outside the Apocalypse, worst week of my life.”

“Okay, well. When I was in your body, I experienced… attraction… differently.”

Dean shifted a bit uncomfortably. “Hate to break it to you, man, but I’m pretty sure that’s on you, then. Your… consciousness, or whatever, actin up.”

“You didn’t experience attraction differently when you were stuck in me?” Sam grimaced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

Dean usually would’ve laughed, but he was finding himself feeling more and more backed into a corner as this conversation went on, with no actual idea why. He was not attracted to dudes. He just wasn’t. There was absolutely no need for him to feel defensive, so why was he?

“So what you’re saying is,” Dean began, attempting to clarify, “when you were stuck in my body… you were getting hard-ons for other guys?”

“No – well, yes – more like I just felt the need to check them out. Like, all the time.”

“That’s totally normal, Sam,” said Dean, relieved now that the reason for Sam’s confusion was clear. “That’s just typical, healthy… physique comparison.”

“Physique comparison?”

“Sure, why not?”

“So you’re telling me that when you were in my body that whole week, you were just as tempted to ‘compare’ your – my – ‘physique’ to every other dude you came across.”

“Yeah – “ Dean started automatically. But then he cut himself off. Because, goddamn it, Sam, now he was actually being forced to think about it.

The answer wasn’t exactly his brand of likeable.

Dean huffed a nervous laugh. This was – this was so – this was just so silly. This was silly, that was what it was. Because Dean Winchester, the most macho man to ever macho, if he did say so himself, was completely and totally straight. Like, of course he was. He just was. There was no doubt about it.

Except now, thanks to Sam and his pity-face… there was doubt about it. Just the teeniest of seedlings… but enough that not even master-of-denial Dean Winchester could pretend it wasn’t there.

And to top it all off, Sam seemed so focused on studying Dean’s reaction to all this he looked like he was at some sad-ass opera or something. The pity-face was back and better than ever, and Dean suddenly decided he couldn’t stand to look at it another second. He got up off the bed again and headed for the door.

Sam immediately stood up, like he was going to follow. “Dean, wait – “

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, I’m not goin out long.”

Dean didn’t waste any time starting up the Impala and whipping out of the parking lot. His plan was to retreat to the nearest bar, where he could brood over this unwelcome budding confusion in peace. He doubted his brother would follow him – Sam would probably think he needed “time,” or some other fluffy crap, to “work things out.” 

At least Dean’s kid brother was intuitive.

Or, no – Sam was not intuitive at all. Sam was the opposite of intuitive, or at least that’s what Dean was trying to convince himself of for the greater portion of the drive. Because Dean was straight, goddamn it, and Sam was pulling random speculation out of his ass to entertain himself or something.

Dean pulled into the tiny parking lot of the first random bar he dragged himself out of his own head enough to notice. Suddenly he felt a flourish to his right, followed by the ever familiar, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean fought a frustrated sigh. The last thing he needed right now was to freak out for no good reason in front of Cas. “Whaddya need?” He asked the angel, gruffer than was probably necessary. He glanced the tiniest of glances over at his friend to make sure he hadn’t hurt his feelings or whatever – not that Cas would really give any indication if he had – but then instantly felt awkward. 

It was hard not to do the “physique comparison” thing when Cas was around.

Cas, thankfully, seemed to pick up on none of this, and kept his gaze straight ahead ad he said, “Sam called me. He seemed to think you were in some kind of distress.” 

“Well, sorry, false alarm,” said Dean. So much for his theory that Sam was going to give him space. Then out of nowhere he blurted, “Sam just thinks I like dudes is all.”

Well, that was word vomit if he’d ever had it. Dean felt his neck heat up as he shifted the Impala into park. Castiel was looking directly at him now; he could feel it without even turning his head. Goddammit, why had he just said it like that?

“But you do like men,” said Cas, completely matter of fact.

The stunned look Dean gave him in response was even more intense than the one he’d given Sam just twenty minutes earlier.

Cas went on. “You’ve liked plenty of men. Sam, for one. Bobby. Kevin.” Cas paused to reconsider something just long enough for Dean to feel relieved that this list of men Dean “liked,” starting with Sam, was meant to be platonic. “Though, I will admit your circle of same-gendered peers does seem small. Perhaps because most of the people who you come to consider friends die shortly after.”

That was enough to sober Dean up from his mini-crisis. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Cas, jeez.”

“Though if Sam was referring to your attraction to men, you know as well as I do that he’s not wrong about that either.”

And the mini-crisis commercial break was over.

“I’m not attracted to dudes!” Dean finally managed, this time barely getting the words to grind out of his throat. His voice cracked on “dudes.” Way to keep up that macho impression, Winchester, he thought.

Cas, however, looked completely unperturbed. “Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m – Jesus, Cas, why is everybody trying to tell me who I’m attracted to? I’m pretty damn well sure I can tell for myself, thanks very much.”

“Dean, when I raised you from perdition, I rebuilt your physical form from nothing. I am well-versed in every aspect of its specific biology.”

Dean made a point to banish the lingering creepy connotations of that thought and said, “So, what? Is this just one more round of the angel knows best?”

Cas leveled Dean with his classic confused head-tilt, which in this instant had the strange added effect of patronization. “You weren’t aware of your attraction to men?”

“I – I’m not – no.” Only after the stuttered words were out of his mouth did Dean realize he’d just verbally confirmed what Cas was saying without meaning to. None of this felt very fair.

“Oh,” said Cas simply. 

A silence stretched out between them.

“Oh?” Dean echoed finally, desperate to do something to diffuse the sudden and all-consuming awkwardness that had risen up out of nowhere.

Castiel, in an oddly human gesture, looked away from Dean and fiddled with a loose string on the sleeve of his trench coat. If Dean didn’t know any better he might’ve said Cas looked self-conscious.

“Dean,” Cas started. Then halted himself.

It was a little difficult to tell, since it was nighttime and the neon lights above the door of the bar didn’t extend too close to the parked Impala, where Dean and Cas were still sitting. But was Cas… blushing?

“Dean,” Cas tried again, and this time he met Dean’s eyes with an almost comically intense determination, like he was going to get these words out if it killed him. “If you wanted assistance coming to grips with the more intimate details of your newfound sexual identity, I would be happy to offer my services.”

It took Dean longer than it should have to piece together what Cas was getting at, since no way in hell or heaven was this something Cas would ever actually be getting at. Yet somehow, here was a former angel of the Lord, apparently offering to pimp himself out to Dean Winchester. The most shocking realization for Dean, though, wasn’t that Cas was offering. It was that the offer itself had a certain… intrigue.

Nope. No. Dean was not about to go there. Definitely not with Cas, anyway.

“Um. Yeah. No,” Dean said, being woefully unclear even to himself. Get this right, the part of his brain that was still somewhat functional demanded. “Look, um. Thanks for the offer, Cas. Buddy. But, uh. I don’t think – ”

“Of course.” Castiel cut him off with a curt nod. “I just thought I would check.”

Dean made an attempt to be more specific. “I just don’t think I’d really be into that – ”

But before he could finish, there was a flourish and the sound of wing flaps, and Cas was gone. Dean sat there staring at the place his friend had just been for a long moment, then sat back and sighed. Finally, he got out of the Impala and headed into the bar. 

Contrary to what he’d told Sam about not going out for very long, it was well past 2 AM by the time Dean stumbled back into the motel room. Sam, bless him, had waited up.

“Dean – “

But Dean had no plans to have any more conversations pertaining to his midlife sexual enlightenment or whatever tonight, or any other night in the near future. He passed out in a heap on his bed, still completely clothed.

At some indeterminate point he felt Sam remove his boots for him, and was hit by a drunken surge of affection for his little brother, who really was so obviously just trying to show he cared by drudging up all this random weirdness. Weirdness that, the more Dean let the thought linger, didn’t actually seem so weird or random at all…

Even so, for the time being Dean wasn’t up for discussing sexual preferences – known or otherwise – any further, and at his continued insistence Sam dropped the subject. As days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, finally – finally, Sam’s pity-face wore off, at least as far as this topic was concerned.

Sam still looked at Dean with plenty of pity regarding other things, of course – namely, the consequences of an ill-fated weekend in Georgia. A local county fair was taking place at the same time they were working a case, and Dean made himself horribly sick winning first place at a peach pie-eating contest. Puking his pink-tinted guts out over a yellowing motel toilet was, in Dean’s book, a situation that actually merited Sam’s pity-face.

Dean wasn’t so determined to linger in what could potentially be denial, though, that the appeal of… well, experimenting… was lost on him. There were a couple times over the course of that summer when Sam elected to stay in for the night that Dean toyed with the idea of visiting an establishment of the rainbow flag persuasion. Somehow, though, even when he managed to find one, he could never quite work up the nerve to go inside.

That was the ridiculous part. Dean fought monsters for a living, and had literally been to Hell and back. Yet here he was, petrified of airplanes and gay bars.

One such night, Dean actually made it halfway across the parking lot before chickening out. He hated to think if his repeated decisions to bail like that, but what else was he supposed to call them? But after he’d turned tail and was once again sitting in the front of the Impala, wondering what the hell he was so freaked out about, somebody knocked on his window. Dean jolted slightly – an odd reaction for him, since he almost never let his guard down. It was embarrassing to admit to himself that this jolt was, ironically, out of embarrassment.

The guy standing outside was not unattractive, Dean’s brain informed him in a clinical sort of way. In a “physique comparison” sort of way… or at least how Dean had thought of the physique comparison stuff before he’d set out on this weird subplot mission of self-discovery. He had red hair and blue eyes, with a smattering of freckles across his nose. Dean had half a second to reflect that he’d always sort of had a bit of a thing for redheads before he was rolling down his window to hear what the guy had to say.

“Hey, man, I don’t mean to seem creepy or anything, but I was wondering if you were planning on going inside?” Said the guy. “I saw you standing out there in the parking lot for a bit, and I don’t know. You looked like maybe you could use a friend.” The guy’s smile broadened in a show of blustering confidence. “Or maybe a date?”

So that was how thirty minutes later Dean found himself not in the bar, but in a motel room – not the one he and Sam were sharing; at a completely different motel, in fact – with this random dude with red hair and freckles, about to do… whatever.

Dean realized belatedly that he might’ve thought to research the physics of what was about to happen outside the realms of Internet porn. Sam’s voice echoed in his head: _“You’re confusing porn with real life again…”_

Dean felt a sudden surge of panic. Gay sex was supposed to hurt in real life, wasn’t it? That’s what people said, wasn’t it? And, holy shit, Dean hadn’t felt this inexperienced about sex stuff since puberty.

This wasn’t going to work. This wasn’t going to work at all. He needed to get out of there…

So he did. While the red head was in the bathroom, “prepping” – whatever the hell that meant – Dean bailed. Again.

Dean pretty much gave up on trying to force himself to go into a gay bar after that, or to try actually hooking up with a dude. It was a lot more effort than it was worth, and… he wasn’t sure how to put it to himself, exactly, but something about the whole thing just felt… wrong. Forced.

That thought didn’t really bring the sense of relief it should have, though. Like, coming to the conclusion that interacting with other guys from a sexual perspective felt wrong and forced should having him skipping through meadows and singing… in a completely straight way, of course. But for some reason, he just felt kind of bummed out about it. Which made absolutely zero sense whatsoever.

And not long after that, gay Internet porn significantly dropped in appeal when the main website he’d been fooling around with decided to produce an allegedly fan-made porno adaption of Chuck’s Supernatural books, staring – of course – versions of him and Sam. So now he couldn’t even look at dude-on-dude action online without thinking of that and loosing any and all potential for arousal for, like, days afterwards.

Meanwhile, as all this was happing, Dean was doing his best to ignore the tiny but constant nagging in the back of his head that he hadn’t seen Cas since that weird night when this whole mess started and Cas had offered to help him… figure it out, so to speak. Inevitably, though, as summer began to shift into fall, and the anniversary of September 20th rolled around, Dean found he could no longer continue to pretend Cas’s extended absence was purely coincidental. Of course this could very easily be attributed to Cas getting tied up in some Heaven business mumbo jumbo again, or some other trouble that would merit assistance or a rescue effort from Dean and Sam. Yet somehow Dean was almost certain Cas’s absence was because Dean had to have done something in their last encounter to drive his friend away.

That was difficult to think about. The anniversary of Castiel raising Dean from the Pit never failed to drill home all over again how much he owed the angel; how much he needed him. How important Castiel had come to be in his life, not just as a brother in arms, but as a friend. And, as Cas had pointed out in their last meeting, Dean didn’t have too many of those left these days. He’d never really had too many in the first place. 

Friendship, as a whole, was something Dean treasured very deeply. It wasn’t something you could force, especially not in his case. There was so much of his life, of who he was and what he valued and what he wanted, that he just couldn’t share with the average Joes at whatever podunk town bar he found himself in that weekend. Or with the attractive red heads at gay bars. And of the people who did lead similar lives, hunters who might have a snippet of understanding when it came to everything he and his brother dealt with on an every day basis – hell, everything they’d been through – there was still a whole slog of emotional baggage to delve through before Dean could even get kind of close to other people. Before Dean could so much as start letting someone else in.

Whenever Dean’s thoughts drifted along these lines, perhaps inevitably, he always ended up remembering that first night with Cas in the barn. How Cas had… had looked into his soul, or something, and immediately put into words Dean’s deepest and most pervasive insecurities: “What’s the matter?” Cas had asked, with what Dean would come to know as his trademark inquisitive head tilt. He’d seemed so mysterious that night. So ethereal, even before telling Dean he was a literal angel of the Lord. Then – and here was the part that got Dean every time he thought of it – Cas had widened his eyes in understanding and pointed out to him, very simply, “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”

There had been no pity in the look Castiel had given him then. Just a sad, empathetic sort of understanding. Even before Dean and Cas had truly become friends, back when Dean still semi thought of Cas as a potential enemy, Cas had “gotten” Dean. And Dean had never had to worry about explaining himself to Cas.

Until now, anyway. Because something in the way he’d acted or responded or something had upset his friend, and now he was gonna have to do some kind of heart-to-heart like Sam was always bitching in favor of to fix it.

And today was September 20th. Regardless of everything, he needed to see Cas today, if only because of the anniversary.

“Hey, Cas, so I know it’s been awhile, but, um – “

Dean didn’t get to finish his prayer. There was that familiar flourish, and the sound of wings, and suddenly Cas was standing in front of him. Dean was sitting at the foot of the bed of the motel room he and Sam were currently sharing – Sam, that devious bastard, was out on an actual honest-to-goodness date with the girl they’d just finished up their case in this town by exorcising – and for some reason it was almost like Dean had forgotten how intimidating Cas could look when he had his walls up.

Damn. Without half a clue about the specifics, Dean was one hundred present positive now that he’d done something to piss Cas off, just judging from Cas’s body language. Which was far from the human norm, but Dean had spent enough time around Cas at this point – intrigued enough to watch his movements; to analyze him – to be able to understand and interpret more than most others could. Even Sam.

“Hello, Dean,” said Castiel, all gruff and stiff and serious. Because in this moment, Dean noted immediately, he was Castiel… not Cas.

“Hey,” said Dean. Belatedly, it occurred to him that he really had no idea what he wanted to say. He hadn’t really thought to think it through beforehand. 

Cas – Castiel – just stared at him. Expectant, almost. This went on for an almost too-long beat, during which Dean and Castiel locked their gazes on one another and held them there. Out of habit, almost. It occurred to Dean, not for the first time, that staring was something he and Cas did a lot.

“Did you need something?” Castiel finally asked, his voice flat. 

“No… no,” said Dean, fumbling. “I just… today is… today’s that day. And I hadn’t seen you in awhile, and…” He needed to just get this out there. “You were just on my mind.”

Cas’s expression softened. The stiffness in his shoulders loosened, and Dean found himself letting out a breath. Here was Cas. His Cas. His friend – or, something like that. There wasn’t really a term for what they were. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve seemed… distant, lately,” Cas said grudgingly.

“Yeah, about that,” said Dean. “What’s goin on?”

“It’s nothing to do with you. The problem is – it's me.”

“Still, man.” Dean offered an encouraging smile. On the inside he was practically melting with relief that Cas’s absence wasn’t really his fault after all. “Whatever it is, I’ve got your back.”

Cas sighed and took a seat on the other bed. Dean shifted around to be able to face him.

Cas began hesitantly. “When we last talked, the way I reacted to learning you weren’t aware of your attraction to men was immature.” 

Oh. They were going to talk about this again.

“Briefly, I let myself hope the reason you had never pursued a romantic relationship between us was because of your lack of awareness,” Cas continued. “Which was why I offered myself to you so spontaneously. And, perhaps, foolishly.”

If Dean hadn’t already been looking at Cas, he would’ve done a double take. Romance? Between them? Cas had… Cas had hoped for that?

“When you, understandably, rejected me... it became…. difficult. To remain in your presence. I believe the correct word for what I felt then is ‘ashamed.’”

Here, Cas finally looked away from the wall, and focused on Dean directly. “I’m sorry for being away for so long because of this. In spite of everything, I’ve... well. Missed you. More than I realized.”

Cas looked at Dean, smiling his little smile, as if what he’d just told him wasn’t the most blindsiding thing to ever happen. 

“Cas,” Dean said, his throat suddenly dry.

Dean yearned to be able to put everything he was feeling into words, and he was gripped by a sudden terror that he wouldn’t be able to. Because it wasn’t Cas’s fault he hadn’t… he had rejected him that night outside the bar. It wasn’t Cas’s fault at all.

It had been because, if Dean was going to experiment, he couldn’t do it with Cas because Cas was too important. If Dean did something wrong, if Dean fucked it up like he seemed to fuck everything up… well, it was one thing to hurt some stranger’s feelings, like that pretty red head he’d ditched without an explanation. It was another to risk needlessly twisting around this… thing… that had always been between him and Cas. This thing that had somehow become so special and important to him.

Because, Dean had been sure, Cas wouldn’t have understood the implications of an experimental hook up. He would have treated it with a completely business-like attitude. And maybe Cas would have just moved on from it afterwards, like it had never happened, or that it had happened but was of little consequence. But Dean would have known. Dean would have felt the shift in dynamic, even if the shift was one sided, and it would put everything out of balance. Not to mention, because, he was certain, Cas wouldn’t have understood what – what sex, between them, would mean…

Dean wouldn’t have been able to stand the knowledge that he’d taken advantage of one of the only real friends he’d ever had.

“Yes?” Cas inquired. As if they were talking about the stuff they always talked about. As if Dean had a question about sigils or something equally as unimportant.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Dean blurted out finally, quietly. He worried his fingers over one of the little blue buttons on the bedspread.

Cas frowned at him. He didn’t say anything. The silence prompted Dean onward.

“Just. It’s just. I don’t think you get what it would really mean. I mean. If we – “

“Dean, I’ve watched humanity for millennia.” There was a defensive edge to Cas’s voice. “I understand that sex is traditionally an act of significance.”

“Yeah, but – “

“I’m not a child, Dean.”

“I – I know that, Cas, but – “

Cas huffed and took two striding steps forward, away from the TV stand he’d been leaning lightly against, so that he was positioned right above Dean. Looking down at him with his brow lifted in an irritated challenge. They hadn’t had to have the personal space talk in awhile; Cas knew what he was doing there these days, and Dean shuddered just slightly at the realization that whatever Cas was doing right now? Was deliberate.

“To be clear,” Cas said, and impossibly, his voice seemed lower and more gravelly than ever. A light sweat broke out on the back of Dean’s neck. Without realizing he was doing it, Dean widened his legs so that Cas was able to stand between them. “I will accept it if this isn’t something you want with me. I have accepted it. But if you’re holding back because you think I don’t understand…” Cas put a hand on Dean’s arm and pulled him gently but forcefully to his feet. He brought his face right up close to Dean’s ear; his breath brushed hot over Dean’s cheek. “You’re the one being naïve.”

And that did it. Some kind of mind-numbing instinct convulsed inside him, hitting Dean sudden and hard, and before his thoughts could catch up enough to stop him, he had his hands knotted into the sleeves of Cas’s trench coat, and was pulling him forward so hard and fast their teeth actually knocked together before they found the kiss.

Dean could taste a bit of blood in his mouth, but he didn’t care, and apparently Cas didn’t either, because then Dean was being manhandled back onto the bed, and –

And then they stopped. Dean wasn’t sure which one of them had forced the sudden, jolting pause. But now Cas hovered above him, pulled back just enough that they could look each other in the eyes, their noses millimeters away from touching. It hit Dean then, what they had just done. What they might still do, if he allowed it to go there.

What he might lose if he did.

But he wanted this. Oh, God, he wanted this. He wanted it so badly, and in that moment, he had no idea how he had ever been so thick-headed as to have convinced himself otherwise. It was just – just –

“What if this changes us,” Dean said, feeling suddenly more terrified than he had in years. Wishing he could look away from Cas’s eyes, so close, _right there_ , but unable to.

Cas knit his brows together almost imperceptibly. “This has always been us, Dean.”

And Dean realized it was true.

This had always been there between them. Since the very, very beginning, this strange, incessant potential… it had been there for Dean. It had apparently been there for Cas. And at last, _at last_ , Dean understood, as much as he could, what all it meant. A random, irreverent part of his brain wanted to hit Sam upside the head for the whole attracted-to-dudes thing, because that was such small potatoes compared to this. Compared to Cas, to Castiel, to _Cas_ , who Dean –

“C’mere,” said Dean, and yanked him back down into another kiss.

Things got heated again almost right away after that. Cas wasn’t hesitating. Dean wasn’t hesitating. With no one hesitating, there was really only one direction this could go. There was some fumbling working off coats and through buttons. Dean was reminded for the thousandth time how crappy wearing like ten layers of flannel ended up being when it came to hookups. Except this wasn’t a hookup, was it? Obviously not. _Obviously_ not. As Dean worked the button on Cas’s pants, he decided this didn’t count as experimentation either, because it just felt too – too simple. Too right _._  

Like they’d always been meant to end up right here.

“Dean,” Cas said, when Dean took him in his mouth, and –

And then Dean heard the click of the lock on the motel room door, and Sam, sounding kind of bummed, saying, “So it turns out she’s married, an– _holy_ shit, sorry, sorry!”

Dean, frozen, heard Sam fumble his way back out the door. After a second he ticked his eyes up at Cas, who was looking down at him with something like bewilderment. A part of Dean was aware that maybe he should be freaking out right now. But Dean was also well aware he still had Cas’s dick halfway down his throat.

He decided to focus on that instead.

 

Hours later, when it was all over and Cas had flapped off for the night so Sam could still have a place to sleep, Dean sent the incredibly awkward, _Uh, hey, sooo… you can come back now_ text.

But when Sam came back to the room – taking great pains to Knock Loudly this time – Dean took one look at him and said, “Oh, hell no.”

Because the pity-look was gone. Long gone, by the looks of it. Instead, Sam’s eyebrows had set up camp practically at the top of his forehead, and his grin was so uncontrollably huge, he might as well have been the Grinch.

“You have fun?” Sam asked, breezing past Dean to drape his jacket on one of the flower-print chairs by the window. 

“Quit giving me that look,” Dean told him.

This time, Sam’s face muscles apparently wouldn’t even let him try to look abashed. “I’m not giving you a look.”

“You are!” Dean protested. “You’re looking at me all – all smug now.” 

If anything, Sam just looked smugger, the bastard. He went to his duffle to start grabbing stuff for bed. “I’m not giving you a look.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean said, turning away, only to get a horrifying glimpse of the pink stain creeping up his face in the mirror above the desk.

Sam’s reflection straightened up in the mirror, and when their eyes met in the glass, his smug smile softened into something familiar and affectionate.

Dean liked that look best of all, no question, but of course he wasn’t just gonna come out and say that. Instead, without really even meaning to, a smug as hell smile started to break out across his face too.

 


End file.
